


A Taste of Ink

by capsiclemycaptain, thegreennoodle



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Guns, Ink, Multi, Nightmares, PTSD issues, Pining, References to Depression, Stucky Scary Bang 2017, Supernatural Elements, War, mentions of natasha romanov/clint barton, other weapons, so much ink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12528172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsiclemycaptain/pseuds/capsiclemycaptain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreennoodle/pseuds/thegreennoodle
Summary: Steve Rogers once lived his dream when he created "The Winter Soldier", a best selling comic. He felt a deep connection with his character. However, after returning home as veteran, Steve can no longer bring himself to have anything to do with his Soldier. After some time, odd things begin to occur, and Steve learns the hard way that the Winter Soldier isn't done with him yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the Stucky Scary Bang. The amazing artist I worked with is [brooklyn-bisexual](http://brooklyn-bisexual.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This was partially inspired by Bendy and the Ink Machine.

 

 

 

THE WINTER SOLDIER Issue # 15

_In this issue, The Winter Soldier adjusts to life after escaping the clutches of HYDRA. He continues to use his unique skill set to earn money and put some bad guys away, all the while trying to reclaim his identity as James “Bucky” Barnes._

 

Steve put down his pen and shook the cramp out of his hand. He just put the finishing touches on his latest comic. The Winter Soldier was Steve’s creation, born from years of brainstorming and imagination.

First dreamed on the playground after dealing with some snot-nosed jerks, Bucky was a friend and protector that Steve spent hours thinking of. He would envision a man, tall and strong like he wished to be one day, who would look after the weak and take down bullies of every kind. Sure, he had friends to play with, but the Soldier was something special.

Hours were spent created Bucky’s design and character. As a kid, Steve couldn’t imagine an older guy being very strong, and so Bucky never aged older than thirty-five. A military buzz cut simply wasn’t cool, and so Bucky had brown hair that stretched to the middle of his neck. He wore all black and had a mask that covered his eyes and mouth from his enemies. And, the real kicker, his left arm was made of metal. When he came up with that aspect, Steve was merely following his little boy’s train of thought about what would “look awesome”. What was more awesome that a weapon for an arm (besides a flamethrower, of course)?

As time went on, Steve would add details to his Soldier. His back story: a young World War II American sergeant, captured by Nazis and experimented on. They gave him the arm and used him to hurt people. Bucky would escape after some time, though. No sad endings for Bucky Barnes, no siree. Steve thought of other things, such as Bucky’s family and interests and personality. Bucky came from a large well-to-do family whom he unfortunately never saw again after shipping out to Europe. He was easy going and charming but could be tough when he had to. Bucky liked science and baseball and pretty girls. After escaping HYDRA, he was more quiet and reserved, but the ice that grew around his mind and heart would slowly melt.

Steve’s favorite hobby was drawing. He would sketch and doodle all over his notebooks and the stacks of paper he kept on his desk. His mother always knew what to get him for birthdays and holidays: art supplies. Steve also received his fair share of games and toys and clothes that he enjoyed and appreciated, but art was his passion. What he drew most was Bucky. It took several tries to figure out how exactly he wanted the Soldier to look. Steve never felt like he did his creation justice in the early days. Bucky deserved more than childish squiggles.

As time went on, his skill improved. By the time Steve graduated high school, he knew he was headed to art school. He did his assignments of sculpting and painting and nude sketches. But as always, Bucky was his focus. Steve thought that maybe drawing his soldier was something he should have outgrown by then. He should start focusing on landscapes and portraits and other things people would want to commission him for.

He kept going back to Bucky. Whether it be hour long projects or doodles on paper margins. Drawing Bucky kept him going through breakups, financial stress, sleepless nights, his mom’s death...all he had to do was draw his favorite creation and Steve would feel better.

Somehow, this paid off for him. Around graduation, he heard that SHIELD comics was looking for new ideas. He had been trained in more traditional art, but it was worth a shot. One a lovely May day, Steve gathered his best pictures of Bucky and a notebook full of story ideas and proudly walked into Nick Fury’s office.

Honestly, Steve had been expecting rejection. There had to be a thousand college kids in New York who thought their childhood heroes were worth everyone’s attention. And even if Steve didn’t care if this company brushed him off, he would be miffed if Fury said one bad thing about his Soldier.

But Fury had looked at his drawings with an impressed face. He sat patiently and listened as Steve described everything about Bucky and his journey.

“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this, young man.” Fury gave him a searching look. Steve hoped the man found what he was looking for. Talking about his Soldier always put him in a good mood.

Fury picked up some of his drawings and put them in a briefcase. “If you don’t mind, I’ll show these to the board. I think this might be what they’re looking for, Mr. Rogers.”

“You’re already taking them, so I guess I don’t mind.” Steve couldn’t help but smirk. He was from Brooklyn, which made him a default smart-ass.

“Don’t get cocky, kid. Expect a call back within a month or two.”

Within a week, Steve was hired at SHIELD.

Before he knew it, he had a large desk with an endless supply of electronic drawing pads, paper, pens, and whatever else he needed. There was a flurry of meetings and handshakes and contract signing. Steve had to consult the higher ups about his plans and share his ideas with other people, but he had the go ahead to give Bucky the story he deserved.

The first issue was released a month later, and Steve’s life changed forever.

 

The next three years were a dream come true for Steve. His comic was a total hit. The world loved his Soldier just as much as its creator did.

There was a constantly replenishing pile of fan mail on his desk. Kids and adults both stopped him in stores and on the street to ask for his autograph. Nothing made Steve’s day like people telling him how much they loved Bucky and how the Soldier inspired them. Bucky was now helping them like he had once helped Steve.

There was an undeniable sense of pride in this success. Steve wasn’t cocky by any means. It was the sort of pride one feels when they see a friend or family member succeed. Steve felt like it wasn’t him that was rising to fame, but Bucky. Steve was merely a tool to help Bucky get the attention he deserved.

Steve loved his workplace. He spent long hours at his desk, drawing and drawing and re-doing them until everything was perfect. The panel sizes, the colors, the pacing, the expressions – all beyond reproach. (Although there was always one higher-up who could offer a few words of criticism.) The long hours sitting often did a number on his back.

Steve had become friendly with a few co-workers. There was Clint Barton, another up and comer hired out of school. He was an out going jokester, definable by his hearing aids and his love of coffee. Clint had his own machine on his desk. He created and pushed for more handicapped characters.

There was Sam Wilson, a storyboarder who helped Steve come up with new ideas and wrote the scripts for two Winter Soldier comics. Natasha Romanoff was an editor who had no problems telling anyone when they messed something up, but she was funny and fair and had a sly sense of humor. It was obvious Clint had a crush on her.

They worked together these past years, laughing and creating and meeting tight deadlines. Fury often declared that _The Winter Soldier_ was one of the company’s best comics. It they all kept working hard, Bucky Barnes was going to be a permanent meal ticket.

...The only thing was, _Winter Soldier_ was the only success the company had.

SHIELD comics was relatively small when Steve joined, and still was. They had a few characters that were growing in popularity. Nothing that was making a deep impact. They barely sold enough to make a profit.

It had gotten a bit better since Steve came. Recently, the company was pouring more resources into Steve’s creation. Of course that made him happy, but he was also worried. There was a lot of pressure in carrying a business’s future on his back. There was less focus on other projects and characters in favor of promoting his Soldier. But people loved Bucky! There wasn’t anything to worry about, right? This place would take off in no time.

“What are you frowning at?

Steve looked up from his desk to see Natasha standing over him.

“Just the usual. Fretting over the possibility that I’ll lose everything and end up in the gutter like all the other starving artists.”

She swatted his arm. “Yeah, right. You’ll be able to afford your own penthouse in no time.”

He laughed and turned his gaze downward. There was a Bucky standing in full uniform: a black jacket and gloves to cover his vibranium arm, accompanied by a mask and goggles to hide his face from enemies.

“It’s almost time to clock out. Me, Sam, and Clint are going out for sushi. You coming?”

“You know I’m more of a meat and potatoes guy,” he responded with grin.

“Yeah, and you’ve also been in this chair since for the past nine hours. It’s time for a break!” Natasha picked up his jacket and tossed it to him. “Bucky will be here when you come back.”

He chuckled. “I know, I know.”

He gathered his belongings and spared his work a last glance before heading out for the night. Something about the drawing made him pause. Nothing about his Soldier had changed, but there was... _something_ different.

It was almost if Bucky was looking at him. Somehow, through those dark goggles and all sense of reality, Steve felt like his Soldier was watching him and wanting him to come back.

Steve stared back for a few long moments before blinking hard and turning away. He was being ridiculous. Too many long hours. He needed fresh air. There had been several moments over Steve’s life that his sentimental self wanted Bucky to be alive and be his friend. It was nothing but the workings of an overactive imagination.

Steve didn’t look back as he made a beeline for the door. He felt invisible eyes on him the entire time.

 

Six months later, Steve’s life came crumbling down.

“The company is going bankrupt,” Fury solemnly announced one chilly winter morning. All of the workers were gathered in the lobby. “We...we’re just not making enough profit.”

There were dismayed gasps all around and shouts of protest. No one wants to hear that they’re losing their dream job. Steve felt numb. This couldn’t really be happening, right?

“What are you talking about?” Clint demanded. “We’ve been having lots of success lately! We had a booth at Comic Con in June! We get mail and calls from fans all the time!”

“I know it’s hard to hear,” Fury continued. He walked over to Clint and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know that you’ve all worked hard at your jobs and have been giving it your everything. But...it’s just not enough. _Winter Soldier_ is our main source of popularity. Our backers decided that’s too big a risk to keep funding us. We’re not a secure enough investment, apparently. If we got some other characters to take off...Well, that didn’t happen.”

Steve’s thoughts weren’t rational things like _Oh my god I’m losing my job! How am I going to support myself? How am I going to pay the bills and my student loans? What if I lose my apartment?_

No, the only thing he could think was _What about Bucky?_ Steve felt like he was letting his Soldier down. Bucky finally go the attention he deserved and now it was being stripped away.

“Come on, Nick. Isn’t there anything we can do about this?” he asked, nearly pleading. He would beg for his Soldier, if he had to.

“I know this is especially hard for you, Rogers,” Fury replied. “Look, I’ve spent hours arguing with them and trying to find alternatives. No one else wants to fund us. Buy hey, everyone here has plenty of talent and ambition...”

Steve tuned out the rest of his former boss’s pep talk. He wasn’t in the mood to hear false encouragement that he would ever have an opportunity like this again. Steve only wanted to do one thing: draw Bucky.

He left the crowd without a word and went straight up to his desk where several rough sketches awaited him. There were lines to fill in and backgrounds that needed details and expressions to perfect. But why bother with something the world would never see? Instead, Steve got a blank sheet and did a fresh drawing. Bucky, in full uniform but without the mask. No poses or any emotion, just his Soldier facing forward with a grim expression. Steve could practically hear his character talking to him.

_How could you let this happen to me, Steve? I thought we were pals! Are you just going to let them forget about me? About us?_

Okay, maybe he was projecting.

After some time, his friends came up to clear their desks. They were all surprised to see him working.

“Steve, man, what are you doing?” Sam asked.

Steve didn’t look up. “I...you know. I just wanted to finish some stuff.”

Sam walked over and placed a large cardboard box on the end of the desk. “I know it’s rough. I never imagined this place would go under so fast. But hey, life’s a bitch. We got a few hours before they shut everything down and lock us out. They even gave us a box to pack all our shit in. Wasn’t that nice?”

“We’re going to the bar,” Clint added. He was trying to find the best place to put his coffee mug in his box. “I say we get nice and drunk before we line up at the unemployment office tomorrow.”

Steve let out a weak laugh. Looks like he’d become a starving artist, after all. Clint and Natasha exchanged a look before she grabbed a box of tissues and brought it over to him. God, when did he start crying?

“We’re all going to be fine, Steve,” she soothed. “You especially. You’ve made a name for yourself. You could take _Winter Soldier_ to another studio or even go independent.”

“Yeah, maybe.” What studio would want to hire someone from a bankrupted company?

And so he finished his drawing and packed everything he could into the too small box. Steve put the recent piece on top, and it seemed to glare at him as he put the lid on. He’d be damned it he didn’t take the company-given pens home with him.

He didn’t make good company at the bar, but no one else was in a good mood either. They ordered shots and did a toast to SHIELD comics.

“So what’s next for you guys?” Clint asked after a fourth shot of whiskey, voice only a little slurred. “I like dogs. Imma be a dog trainer. I’ll get a dog and teach him how to make coffee.”

“I do have a minor in journalism,” Natasha said. “I guess I’ll have to find a way to use it.” She was holding her vodka amazingly well.

Sam just shrugged and eyed the bottom of his glass.

Steve took a large sip of his beer and contemplated his options. Shit, what did he even want to do? All he ever wanted was to draw Bucky and share him with the world, but that was over now? There was always being an art teacher. He could be a cop or help Clint in the dog training business. But all he really wanted was to stay close to his Soldier.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve always thought about joining the military.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“Watch out, Cap!”_

_Steve ran and ducked behind a bombed ruin that used to be a building just in time to avoid the blast from a grenade. The sound left his ears ringing and he feared that his temporary barricade would collapse on him._

_There was no time to linger. He ran through the rubble to see what was left of his unit. Their number shad dwindled from a hundred to what looked like forty. Men and women Steve had traveled and served with had lost their lives in an ambush. No time to mourn now. He was their captain and it was his duty to see them to safety._

_Steve ran across the snow laden ground as quickly as he could. Years of heavy training left him swift and strong...but sometimes it wasn’t enough._

_“Everyone!” he called. “Follow me! We have to get out of here!”_

_Those who could hear him scrambled to his side. It was a small number. The rest had no choice but to keep low. Guns were kept raised and point at enemy lines._

_It was quiet for a few moments. Steve didn’t like it, didn’t trust it. Something was coming._

_Intuition made him look up. “Shit! Look out!”_

_A series of grenades came flying at them. Most of them landed far enough away to dodge in time. A small mercy. Others landed right in the middle of the group, sending limbs and blood flying._

_Steve wanted to scream and scream and scream. No time. Never enough time._

_He turned and was greeted with the sight of a gun in his face._

Steve woke with a start.

He sat up in his bed, drenched with sweat and shaking. Another damn nightmare. No, another damn memory.

It’s been seven years since he joined the army. He often wondered if it was a mistake. 

Steve had gone in young and fresh-faced, still upset over losing his job at SHIELD. All he had wanted was a distraction and a way to relate to Bucky, his Soldier. It was childish, but living the same way Bucky did seemed like a way to keep his creation alive. When Steve found a way to continue his work, he would have first hand experience on some of what Bucky went through.

Despite his head-strong attitude, Steve always thrived under discipline. He quickly rose through the ranks and earned the title of Captain in just four years. He traveled the world, fighting to defend his country. Steve worked special ops with whatever unit he was assigned to. Apparently he had a knack for this.

During good moments he would find time to doodle Bucky on a notebook or stray piece of paper. Sometimes he would meet a fan amongst his group. He missed being able to talk about his Soldier, and would gladly indulge them with a story or an autographed sketch. 

It wasn’t until the previous year when things got really bad. He and his group had been stationed in Russia. According to their superiors, they received word that there was terrorist activity going on. Steve’s unit had been sent to investigate and - 

He still couldn’t believe he made it out alive.

Steve had his fair share of hard battles and close calls over his career, but the attack in the Buryat Republic was by far the worst. Eighty-five of his fellow soldiers died. So many faces that he would never see again. So many people who would never go home to their families. The thought haunted Steve. _He_ was their captain. _He_ was supposed to lead them to safety. Steve had failed them in the worst way. 

The following months were a blur of hospitals and tears. Steve blamed himself for what happened. Steve was supposed to be smarter, stronger, faster – but he still lead them into a trap. He didn’t deserve his rank.

He didn’t protest when he was offered an honorable discharge.

Now, over a year later, he almost wished he hadn’t. The military pension he received let him rent a small place in Brooklyn. (He was given a little extra to keep certain secrets.) Now he didn’t have much to do except dwell on his thoughts and do everything he could to distract himself.

Steve knew he should find a new job, but he wasn’t ready to interact with large groups of people again. Not yet, anyway. Like his therapist said, he just needed time to heal…

Several times, he almost turned to his old comfort of drawing his Soldier. But...he found he just _couldn’t_. Everything about Bucky reminded him of his time in the army. Steve would pick up a fresh pen with the intent to draw Bucky’s face or arm...and all he could think about was blood and screams and gunfire. He would fling the pen down and rush away from the still blank paper.

He felt so guilty when that happened. 

It was like failing Bucky all over again. Steve was the only one left to breathe life into his character, and he couldn’t even do that anymore. 

Steve sighed heavily and looked out the window. The sun was starting to rise. Steve rose from his bed and started to dress in his running clothes. Some exercise would help clear his head.

 

He was cooking dinner one night when he started to smell ink. 

It came unexpectedly, cutting through the aroma roasting vegetables and searing beef. At first, he thought he was just imagining it. He smelled ink every day for years. It was like a phantom that came to haunt him – a reminder of things lost.

He decided to ignore it. The smell could be coming from anywhere. Maybe it was coming from his untouched art supplies, or even from the stack of old newspapers he meant to recycle. 

As Steve sat down to eat, the smell intensified. It was like someone was holding an ink well right under his nose. He gagged on his steak as his nose burned and his eyes watered. 

Choking, he ran over to the nearest window and threw it open. The fresh air helped, but he could still sense the miasma of ink-stench behind him. It was almost like someone was standing behind him. He breathed deeply and counted to three hundred before he felt it was okay to turn back inside.

The smell was no longer overwhelming, but there was still a trace of it in the air. Steve looked around his kitchen, completely bewildered. What the hell was that? Had there been a gas leak or something?

He tried to return to his meal, but the stink had leaked into his food. He spat it out in disgust and then rose to find his keys. It had been awhile since he hung out with Sam, who had found work as a consultant. Steve would call him up and see if he wanted to get some pizza. 

He would be sure to get some air freshener while he was out.

 

Steve came home from a jog one morning and found a dark footprint on his living room floor. It stood out against his wooden floors. He immediately froze and looked around the immediate area. Had some idiot broken in? Nothing looked disturbed, and he couldn’t sense any other presence. He had learned to listen closely for far off breathing and movements, but there was nothing. His apartment was empty.

Steve cautiously moved forward to inspect the stain. It was a boot print, probably belonging to a man. Military issue. Was this some kind of prank?

He leaned closer and realized the print was made of ink. Ink, again! What the hell was going on? Maybe one of his neighbors was having a weird art project going on and decided to involve Steve. Hell, Steve might just be sleepwalking and pouring the stuff all over his home. Where else could this had come from?

There was something oddly familiar about the shape of the print. Steve had seen dozens just like it – usually imprinted into the dirt and mud. It had to be one that his unit were issued before. Is that how it got here? Did Steve wear a pair of old boots and left it here himself?

Unlikely, but Steve didn’t have a better explanation.

It wasn’t until later, after he cleaned up the mess and went through the motions of his day, that he remembered where he saw the print before.

It was the design he used for Bucky’s boots.

 

  
THE WINTER SOLDIER Issue # 23

_In this issue, Bucky Barnes continues to lay low in Romania. However, an incident in Germany may force him to come out of hiding. Will Bucky sacrifice his safety in order to help an old friend?_

 

The coffee shop they met up in was only a block away from Natasha’s business. She went to work as a journalist after SHIELD closed down, and it turned out she had quite a knack for hunting people down and learning their secrets. After two years, she became a private investigator. Clint and her got married, and he worked as her assistant, with a service dog training gig on the side.

Steve was so happy to see how his friends succeeded. While he was hiding from his problems in the army, they were at home making something of themselves. Not that Steve’s accomplishments were a small thing, but at least they didn’t need to see a therapist.

The Barton-Romanoffs were seated with Sam at a table near the back. Steve rushed over to join them. 

“Well, look who it is,” Natasha murmured.

“About time you got here. We were about to give up and go to a club,” Sam cracked. He pushed a mug toward Steve. “Double-shot with vanilla and whole milk. Just the way Captain America likes it.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Steve sighed. It was a stupid nickname Sam came up with after he learned of Steve’s new title. Steve quickly smiled and took a sip of the warm beverage. He came here to have fun. “So, how have you all been?”

“I’ve not been bad,” Sam offered. “My boss has been riding me, but at least he’s going on vacation soon. And I think that pretty little florist down a few blocks from me has been giving me the eyes whenever I go past her shop.”

“Business has been picking up,” Natasha offered. “Mostly middle-aged potato men worried that their sugar babies are cheating on them.”

“Last night Lucky got into the coffee grounds and then tried to chew through the garbage can.” Clint chuckled at the thought of his dog.

“And how about you, Cap?” Sam asked. “I feel like we don’t hear to much from you these days.”

Steve tensed at the question. He knew they all really cared about him, but he wanted to avoid this conversation. “I’ve been fine, I guess. Taking things a day at a time and all that.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“You know we’re all proud of you, Steve,” Clint said. “I know you’ve been having a hard time. You can talk to us about it.”

“Yeah, man. You’ve had to have seem some stuff out there in the desert and the Siberian boonies,” Sam added. “You don’t have to keep it all bottled up.”

Steve was touched by the words. Of course he had told them stories of his time in the army, but it was only the good stuff. They didn’t need to know of the horrors he had seen. “Thanks, guys. But I’m handling myself well. At least my shrink says so.”

They had the decency to laugh. Steve could still see the worry in their eyes.

Natasha took a sip of her mocha. “What are you doing in your free time? Any drawing?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I’ve not been in the mood. I’ve mostly just been watching bad T.V. and exercising.”

She raised a brow. “Come on, Rogers, you used to live to draw. Not even Bucky?”

Steve almost flinched. That name now held such complex emotions for him. “Not even him.” He hoped his voice didn’t give away how guilty he felt.

“Maybe you should try that, Steve,” Natasha suggested. “I know you always looked happiest when you were working on your comic.”

“Not to mention that you always talked about Bucky like you wanted to marry him,” Clint quipped.

“True,” Sam agreed.

“Maybe getting into an old habit will do you some good. It’ll help you remember what it’s like to feel normal.” She reached over to touch his hand. “None of us have been through what you have, but the guys are right. We’re here for you.”

His smile was genuine this time. “Thanks, Nat. Maybe I will.”

 

Steve sat down at his desk, determined to draw his Soldier.

His friends were right. Bucky was like his oldest friend. If he could turn to his old comfort, maybe it could help him overcome the nightmares.

Steve tried to tap into his inner twelve year old, who still thought war and guns and explosions were cool. He had to think about before the war. He had to focus on the joy this used to bring him.

It worked for a few moments. He drew Bucky’s jaw, hair eyes. The long hair that stretched to his neck and then a muscular torso. That’s when it started to get hard. He had to draw Bucky’s uniform. Bucky was a soldier and soldiers fought other soldiers on battlefields and people got hurt on battlefields - 

Steve tried to shake it off. He didn’t want to disappoint Bucky again. (Bucky wasn’t real but damn it, it still hurt!) 

One arm. _Gunfire. Dodged punches._

A leg. _Blood. Screams. Tanks and grenades._

The metal arm. _Friends calling out for their captain. A snowy landscape. Red on white._

Steve only managed the outline of the arm. He wouldn’t be able to deal with the meticulous detail work. God, he couldn’t do this. Not now.

Steve felt tears spring to his eyes. He glanced down at the unfinished drawing. Bucky seemed to be glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” he choked before leaving the room.

 

One night, Steve thought his walls were leaking blood.

The sight startled him enough to drop his laundry basket. Thin black lines slowly trailed from the ceiling down the white paint. 

“What the hell? Steve whispered. 

As he took a few steps forward, the blackness began to fall faster, quickly making puddles on the floor. Soon, all the walls surrounding Steve were pouring down appalling blackness.

Steve could only stare. This was no home maintenance issue he’d ever had to deal with before. This...this had to be some psychological issue. Yeah, there were definitely images of dark red on white flickering through his mind. He felt his hand stat to shake.

Okay, deep breath, Steve. There was no battle going on here. Some weird shit, but no battle.

His walls were mostly black now, with bits of white showing through. Steve finally made his way closer and touched the mess, expecting some kind of tar from the old building.

A familiar smell hit his nose. It was ink. His walls were dripping _ink_.

The sticky puddles reached his ankles now. Steve didn’t know when this would stop, but he wasn’t going to stick around and drown in this. He made a beeline for the door. Ink would spill into the hallway, but that was an issue for another time.

As soon as he opened the door, all the ink disappeared.

Steve blinked and rubbed his eyes. Was he going crazy? Had that all been some cruel trick his own damaged psyche was playing on him?

When he went to gather his laundry, he discovered it was all stained black.

 

Steve was really going to have to look into building codes, because he was pretty sure ink shouldn’t be spilling out of his faucet. Goddamn, he had just went to brush his teeth and turned the water on without looking at it. Why should he suspect anything was off? He grabbed his toothbrush, added paste and ran it under the stream. Steve was just about to put it in his mouth when he looked down and noticed there was ink running down his drain.

He gasped and through his toothbrush down into the basin. He almost gave himself a serious case of ink poisoning! First the walls and now this? He and his landlord were going to have a talk soon. Steve turned off the faucet and sighed. Maybe there was something in the pipes. He almost screamed in frustration when the same thing happened in the kitchen. 

This continued for a couple of weeks. Ink would come out instead of water in his bathroom and kitchen. Steve ended up showering at the gym and ordering a lot of pizza and take out. It was a little inconvenient, but not unbearable. He once stayed in a ditch in Afghanistan for eight days with nothing but a water canteen and a radio. But he was home now and he shouldn’t have to live like this. 

Steve got clean water again eventually. Unfortunately, other things started happening.

Ink continued to appear from everywhere. It was covering his windows in the morning. His shoes would be filled with it whenever he wanted to go out. It would drip from the ceiling and down the walls and streak across the floor at random times. It was unpredictable. Steve didn’t like unpredictability. The most he could do was keep a bucket and mop at hand at all times. Sometimes the ink would leave a mess to clean, and other times it would all disappear without a trace.

Steve eventually a way to stop it: drawing. Somehow he reasoned that if there was ink on paper, the ink would refrain from being anywhere else. He didn’t draw his Soldier or anything from his old comic. Steve focused on peaceful things. He spent hours perfecting fields of flowers. There were scenes of him and his friends hanging out. Mountains and streets and clouds and parks all came from his scarcely used pens and pastels. Steve had missed this. He was born to be an artist, not a soldier. The soothing images helped calm him and clear his mind.

Once, he even managed to draw Bucky before his character’s own war experience. No soldier, just a young man in a nice suit with his whole life ahead of him. Steve grinned the whole time he worked on that. He began to feel the old connection he had to Bucky again. The feeling of having a friend who would never leave and always understand.

Steve went a few days without drawing anything and woke one morning to find his home covered top to bottom with black ink.

 

Steve was going to get to the bottom of this. There was something going on in his home and he wanted to know what. Normal homes didn’t leak ink everywhere. His neighbors gave Steve odd looks when he asked them if they were having the same experience.

Steve decided to take a queue from recent horror movies and set up a few cameras in his house. It felt ridiculous. What was he going to catch - a bunch of stupid teens pulling an elaborate prank on him? But he was getting desperate to know if something unnatural was going on or if it was all in his mind.

A few days passed without incident. In some ways that was worse. It left Steve antsy with expectation. He liked it when an enemy was up close and obvious. He moved cautiously through his apartment. Steve had come to expect inky messes everywhere.

There was finally something on camera one morning after a storm. Steve looked through the footage as he sat at his table and sipped his morning coffee. It was mostly nothing. Nothing in the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom – 

Wait.

He paused and re-winded. The footage showed him asleep on his bed. He slept on his back and laid rim-rod straight. It was a habit he couldn’t seem to break. Everything was normal for a few moments. Then things got strange.

Slowly, a dark puddle began to form next to his bed. More dark liquid began to drip from the ceiling to add to the mess. It was more ink, it had to be. 

Steve watched in horror as a mass began to rise from the puddle. Steve wanted to yell at his sleeping self to get the hell up and run from whatever this was. The ink rose until it was near six feet high. It bent down as if to look at Steve. God, it was so eerie. Steve’s self-preservation instincts were always on high these days. How could he sleep through this?

The form thickened some and took a more distinct shape. Steve could make out arms and legs. The face began more square in the jaw. It seemed to be the shape of a man. The figure did nothing but stand there and watch Steve,. It dripped ink all over the floor and Steve’s bed, and yet nothing stained.

Steve sat and watched the figure watch him. The more he looked, the more familiar the being became. It sort of looked like…

“Bucky?”

Steve didn’t watch any tapes after that.

 

_The nightmare started like they usually did. A battlefield, screams, blood, a weapon in his face. Steve was used to this, but that didn’t diminish the panic and fear. His subconscious didn’t realize that this danger was long past._

_Steve trudged through a never ending field of snow. With every step, it seemed to deepen an inch. He was soon up to his chest in the freezing mass. He could hear cries of fear and rage in the distance, but there was nobody in sight. The weapon fire sounded like it was coming from fifty miles away – nothing more than a muffled thud._

_After some time of this, a path cleared in front of him. It was narrow, and only allowed Steve just enough room to continue forward. The walls of snow rose higher around him as he pressed on._

_A black figure appeared ahead. It was hard to make out from a distance, but it was definitely a person._

_“Hey!” Steve called. “Can you hear me?”_

_No response._

_Steve quickened his steps, desperate to find some company in this lonesome place. His company was a man. Black clothing. Long hair._

_Closer now. Muscular. The fingers of his left hand shone like silver in the glowing light of the snow. Piercing blue eyes glared as Steve approached._

_He stopped a few feet away from the man, not quite believing what he was seeing.  
“...Bucky?”_

_Steve finally recognized the figure as his Soldier. Bucky looked so real. Steve had imagined what his character would look like in reality countless times, but this was different. Bucky appeared as Steve always drew him, and yet there was something different, as if Steve was always missing something._

_Bucky’s eyes remained hard, but his lips stretched into a lazy grin. “Hey, pal. Long time, no see.”_

_Steve braved a few steps closer. Here was Bucky, alive and talking. Just like he’d always dreamed. Steve should be overjoyed. Except...there was something off here. Maybe it was that Bucky’s clothes were too dark. His glaring eyes should be reserved for enemies, not his creator._

_“Aren’t you gonna say something?” There was a challenge in Bucky’s voice. “It’s been so long since you’ve come to talk to me.”_

_“Bucky -” Steve started. There were a hundred things he wanted to say but none of it would come out. “How are you?” is what finally escaped his mouth. How else did someone greet a friend?_

_The Soldier laughed. Despite the warm sound of it, Steve shivered. He noticed that black liquid was beginning to drip off Bucky. “How am I? Well, I dunno, Steve. Been pretty lonely, for starters. I mean, my only friend in the world abandoned me!”_

_It was like all of Steve’s fears were coming true. There would always be a part of him that feared Bucky would be mad at him for not making the comic anymore. “Bucky, no, I didn’t abandon you! The studio shut down. I-”_

_“I don’t care!” Bucky snapped. His body was beginning to dissolve. The snow around him turned into an inky puddle under his feet. “You were always there for me, Steve! You...you made me feel like I was real! And then when the going got tough you threw me away! I went from having a friend always by my side to being all alone!”_

_“What do you want, then, Buck?” Steve whispered. He felt like the guilt was choking him. “What do I need to do?”_

_Bucky smiled again. He reached out his metal arm toward Steve, letting flicks of ink hit the blond’s face. “I want you.”_

_With that, the ink stained walls around them began to collapse. Black obscured Steve’s vision while the smell of rotten ink filled his mouth and nose. Surely, he would soon drown -_

When Steve jerked out of the nightmare, he soon discovered he was covered with ink. The sticky dark liquid covered him head from toe. It splatted on the wall behind him and covered his bed. 

“Oh my God...”

Steve leaped up from the mess and rushed to his shower. God, that had all felt so real. No, no it was real! There was no way to claim that was all a mere dream. The black mess swirling down the shower drain proved that. Steve could no longer deny what was happening to him.

Bucky was alive, and he was angry.

 

THE WINTER SOLDIER Issue #37

_In this issue, Bucky Barnes tries to adjust to life after being exonerated by the U.S. After living in fear for so long, can he learn to be free again? Or will the Winter Soldier always be a part of him?_

 

Steve wasn’t going to wait around to see what Bucky would do next. Somehow, someway, his creation had come to life. Bucky thought Steve owed him something, and maybe the man did. He brought Bucky into existence and then pushed him aside – no excuse would do. Steve had to make things right.

“Dreams do come true...” he murmured to himself as he entered his apartment. He had spent the evening with his friends. He had a feeling life was going to get very weird for him and he wanted a last little bit of fun.

As expected, the place was dripping with ink. The smell used to be so comforting to him. It was the smell of work and accomplishment and Bucky. Now...it was still Bucky’s scent, but it brought nothing but feelings of foreboding.

Bucky – because who else could cause the whole damn place to be dripping with think black ink? - wasn’t pulling any punches. Steve could barley see inside the once-familiar space. Black, black, black everywhere. He had gotten used to the smell. It was pooled on the floor high enough to reach his calves. It was a wonder the stuff wasn’t leaking out from under the front door.

He slushed forward until he reached his living room. Steve was relieved to see the floor was dry in the center. It was like a spotlight was shining down on that spot, just waiting for Steve to step under it.

“Okay, Buck,” he called, “I’m here. No more games, alright?”

He was met with silence. The only sound in the room was the dripping of ink. Off the walls, off the furniture, off the ceiling. His clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. There was no way he would be able to clean up this mess.

There was a soft _thud_ behind him.

Steve turned to see a comic book laying a few feet away from him. He could tell what it was by the cover. It was the last issue of _Winter Soldier_ he ever worked on, the one that never got published. Bucky was trying to live a life of freedom, but he was going in for one last mission in D.C. Steve had been working on the fight scene in the interstate when Fury announced they were bankrupt.

Is that what Bucky wanted? For Steve to finish the comic?

As if pushed by an unseen breeze, the book opened and pages stated turning. Steve took a step back. What the hell was happening now?

It stopped in the middle of the book. One page was covered with Bucky taking out a weaponized van. The next was completely blank.

A hand shot up from the center of the book. Steve cried out and staggered to the edge of the ink. The hand was made of shiny metal and covered in a fingerless black glove. It was followed by another, normal hand. 

Steve could only watch, frozen in place, as a familiar head followed black-clad arms. Blue eyes locked onto Steve’s. A muscular torso came next, and then two legs. Bucky had crawled out of the goddamn comic and into Steve’s living room. 

Bucky was so real, and yet _off_. There was still a black outline around him. It looked like Bucky had traced around his body with a thin black marker. There was a stiffness to his movements, the same as someone who hadn’t been able to walk in a while. Bucky stayed crouched on the ground for a few short moments before standing straight. He stood and gazed at Steve. His expression was a mix of thoughtfulness and frustration. Yet his eyes were oddly soft. He seemed both annoyed and glad to see Steve.

“Well, here I am, pal,” Bucky said with a charming smile. He was wearing his uniform. The Winter Soldier didn’t smile like that. Bucky Barnes did. 

“Bucky,” Steve greeted. His voice came out steady enough. At least his rising panic wasn’t showing. Dear God, this wasn’t supposed to be _happening_.

“Steve Rogers. Stevie, Stevie. Why don’t you come give your old pal Bucky a hug?” Bucky took a step forward and stretched out his arms. Steve knew what those arms were capable of. He had drawn enough fight scenes to know how easy Bucky could kill. 

Bucky paused, sensing his creator’s apprehension. “What’s the matter? Didn’t you want to see me, Steve? You told me you would make it up to me, remember?”

Steve thought back to his dream. He licked his dry lips and didn’t miss how Bucky followed the movement. “Yeah, Buck, I did.”

“So _come here_.” In a flash, Bucky rushed toward Steve. All sense of calmness was gone. Steve was overcome with fight or flight instinct. Even with all his training, he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the vibranium arm. He loved his Soldier, but he wouldn’t let Bucky kill him out of revenge for abandoning him. Even if he deserved it.

Steve quickly turned and made a break for the door. Some part of his mind rationalized that Bucky couldn’t get him outside the apartment. His feet splashed through the cold ink as it became more difficult to move. His legs strained with the effort to rush to safety. 

Steve didn’t get very far, Bucky was made of ink and glided through it like a fish in water. The Soldier grabbed Steve around the waist before he was more then even five feet away. Bucky dragged his struggling creator back to the clearing, all the while appreciating the warm feel of him.

Steve cried out and flailed as Bucky manhandled him. Fear had never gotten the better of him in combat, but now all his muscles were stiff and useless. Armies he understood, this he didn’t.

Bucky pushed him down on his back and kneeled on his stomach. Steve squirmed against the uncomfortable pressure but didn’t try to get up. Bucky could easily catch him again.

“Go on, then. Do it.” If he was going to die by the hand of his oldest friend. Might as well get it over with. “Kill me, Buck.”

Bucky looked confused. “What? Kill you? Why the hell would I do that?” He moved so he was sitting on Steve’s waist. “What was it you used to say? ‘We’re together until the end of the line’? Well, I’ve gotta admit I’ve been pretty pissed at you lately, Steve. But...you know, right now I’m just happy I can finally _touch_ you.”

Before Steve even realized what was happening, Bucky leaned down and kissed him. His mouth flooded with the taste of ink. Bucky smelled like ink and tasted like ink and _was made of ink. Made of ink and real and solid and kissing Steve -_

Bucky didn’t seem to mind the lack of reciprocation. He pulled off Steve’s lips and leaned brushed their foreheads together. “I love you, Steve. Always have, you know? Hard not to fall for the guy who gave you existence, I guess. I know you love me, too. Even if you left me.”

He grinned and Steve felt his body go cold. What was the Soldier up to? 

Bucky stood and grabbed Steve’s wrist, pulling the taller man to his feet. “But you’re not gonna leave me again, are ya Steve? I’m gonna make sure of that.”

“Bucky, please what are you – Ah!” Steve cried out as he was dragged toward the comic book. The blank page seemed to mock him. _Come and join me, Steve! It’s where you belong!_

Steve struggled with all he had. Bucky was still stronger. The metal arm wrapped around Steve’s own to keep him still. It wasn’t hard to push a man already exhausted with fear. 

The Soldier stepped onto the book and his foot sunk in. “Come on, Steve. It’s like jumping into a swimming pool.”

Steve had time to scream once more before Bucky pulled him onto the blank page and they both sunk down.

 

There was a knock at the door. The unlocked knob turned and Natasha stepped inside.

“Steve, you in here? You left your wallet at the restaurant.”

She brandished the piece of brown leather in the air, expecting Steve to come out of the kitchen or his bedroom. He would never leave the door open like that if he wasn’t home.

“Steve?” Natasha tried again when there was no response. She scanned around the immediate space with a trained eye. Nothing looked out of place. No signs of force entry or weird stains or overturned furniture.

She ventured further into her friend’s home. Steve was acting funny tonight and it had her worried. Steve just wasn’t the same after they lost their jobs at the studio, and the military just made things worse. She sometimes wished she had talked him out of going.

Natasha noticed something on the floor. It was a...comic book? Just laying there? Even from a distance she could recognize Steve’s work. Why would he leave something so sentimental tossed down like that?

She bent to pick it up. “What the hell?”

On the open page was a full spread of the Winter Soldier. His mask was off, and he was smiling brightly. But what really got Natasha’s attention was who was standing next to SHIELD’s most popular character. It was Steve! It was a very realistic and detailed drawing. It was almost if someone had copied Steve right onto the page. But that wasn’t all. In stark contrast to Bucky Barnes’ smile, Steve was screaming.


End file.
